His Little Bird
by InsanityisReality
Summary: Berdine is a girl from a small town in France with parents who believe she needs to be sent out to 'explore the world'. They send her to her uncle who happens to be a manager for a popular opera house in Paris. Her uncle knows the poor girl to be mute, and soon everyone in the Opera is awaiting her arrival with bated breath, including the infamous Phantom.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 : The Mute

….

Warnings- none for this chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters.

….

She was a little, mute girl.

That was the phrase that was whispered around the opera house early one morning. It started in the manager's office. Armand had made the mistake of telling his secretary, Mlle Adeline- a petite woman with a mouth as big as Paris- that a new arrival would be joining the Opera Populaire later on that evening.

"Please try to be polite Mlle, the girl is…"

"She is what, Monsieur?"

"She is mute. And I would appreciate it if this information stayed in this office"

"Of course, Monsieur."

From there, it was mere hours before the information was passed to the ballet rats to the stagehands and then on to Carlotta herself.

"A mute!" She laughed.

"That's what I heard from Henry, Madame."

"I was unaware this was a zoo." Carlotta sniffed, sitting languidly in a plush chair in her dressing room. "Let us all hope she can at least take orders like a good mutt."

By the time the girl was nearing arrival, everyone had heard and were waiting with bated breath. Rehearsals that day were filled with gossip, and the director had an exhausting time trying to get everyone to focus. No one knew, besides the fact the manager's knowledge of her coming and her supposed disability, anything about her. Stories grew and stretched to outrageous proportions in no time.

" _Perhaps she is a bastard child from one of the managers?_ "

" _I heard she is running away from the law!"_

" _Or maybe a lover!"_

" _I wonder if she is a witch? Perhaps she takes revenge on those who ridicule her!"_

" _Or maybe they have hired her to kill the Opera Ghost!"_

" _Oh shush with that nonsense Clarice! We all know the Opera Ghost is dead."_

Since the incident of the falling chandelier no one had heard hide nor hair from the infamous ghost. It had been somewhat of a concern when the managers decided to rebuild and reopen the opera house, but there wasn't a single incident to mention. No plans stolen, or worker injuries that were out of the ordinary- not even a whisper of sabotage to the workmen's lunches. Christine Daae had run off with her Vicomte, Raoul de Changy, and the two were happily married with a child on the way, living on the very outskirts of France. But the Phantom had all but disappeared. Some of the ballet girls still claimed they saw a masked fiend wandering the halls late at night, but most of the stories were cast off as silly fears from walking around in the dark. People had all but believed the murderer was long dead somewhere beneath the floors of the Opera.

Little did everyone know…

The Phantom of the Opera was alive, and lurked within the shadows of the opera house with renewed strength. During the first few months after the loss of Mlle Daae he had sulked within his underground lair, broken, insane, and lonely. His pride was the most damaged thing about him however, and he let it remain so- for a while at least.

But Erik was a proud man, despite his face, and he managed to finally begin picking up the pieces after his Christine left him shattered.

He felt no love toward that woman, now that she was away and out of his reach his mind could think clearly and the deep hatred was allowed to fester within his heart. How dare that useless cow corrupt him! How dare she take his gift of teaching and perfecting her voice and squander it, abandoning her calling for some young fool of a Vicomte! But his hate for her didn't end there- women in general, all of them, whores and thieves and liars! Deceitful sirens that only wished to harm and destroy. Awful creatures the lot of them.

Yes, the Phantom was far from gone, and he lurked within the shadows of his opera with a new danger about him. His whole life he had been denied everything, pleasure, happiness, companionship, but that stopped the moment he stepped forth from below his hell and into the world that was always out of reach. They thought him dead did they? Ha! He would show them this place was still under his firm control, and everything and everyone in it- be it primadonna or stagehand- belonged to _him_.

As Erik prowled along the catwalks and observed the stage where a group of ballet dancers were flinging themselves about, he began to hear the rumors of that morning float up to him where he stood in the darkness.

" _I wonder what she looks like?"_

" _She must be ugly! Hideous even!"_

" _Just because she's mute, doesn't mean she's an ogre."_

From his place above them, Erik grinned.

So, a mute would be coming into his domain. A girl from the sound of it.

 _Interesting_.

….

Berdine couldn't exactly say she was thrilled with the aspect of living in an opera house for the next two years. She didn't really see a need for it either, her family wasn't poor, her health was superb, and her house wasn't crowded with children with no space to put them. She had two older siblings, both boys, and they had married and moved out of their parent's house long before Berdine was of age. Her parents had just come up to her one day and asked if she wanted to get out and explore the world a bit, and told her of her uncle that was a manager for an opera house in Paris. At first she turned it down. Why would she be interested in a place with loose primadonnas and grabby, old stagehands? She liked music well enough, and operas were fun to attend with her friends but overall she really had no interest in actually living in an opera house.

Her parents, however, weren't about to give up so easily and so began the weeks of being hinted at and pushed into what they thought was 'the right direction'.

And that was how she found herself in a carriage traveling down the streets of Paris with a suitcase seated next to her. She found that the city itself wasn't as grand as she first pictured it to be, for it reeked of horse manure and cheap perfume. The buildings were far bigger than she was used to, but overall she wasn't very impressed.

" _You'll love Paris, Birdy!" Her mother cooed to her while she was packing her bags with a heavy raincloud over her head. "It's so beautiful! And has lots of handsome suitors!"_

That had been her hint. Her mother wanted her to bring back some rich, noblemen she was sure, and that may or may not have had a big influence in her parents push for this trip. They weren't financially unstable by any means- her mother was just a hopeless romantic.

 _Lots of handsome suitors my foot,_ she thought as the carriage passed yet another old, hairy, overweight man.

She knew the real reason her parents wanted her out of the house, but she dreaded acknowledging it. Her need to lock herself away for hours at a time and never really leaving the house unless it was to run the occasional errand had begun to worry her family. She wasn't very sociable by nature and tended to stay away from people, and this was probably why she had been forced from her comfort zone and thrust into society head first.

" _It will be good for you." Her father had informed her like he was trying to sell one of his cows to a local farmer. "Think about it! Getting out of this little, boring town for a while and exploring one of the biggest cities in France!"_

She had thought about it, and came to the conclusion such a thing was a big waste of her time.

A pout was still present on her face when the carriage jerked to a stop and the driver announced that they had arrived at the Opera Populaire. Berdine looked out the window to the looming structure, all doom and gloom from her standpoint. The building looked old, and yet new in some aspects like the moulding and trimming, a few statues that looked fresh from a sculptor's hands situated around the grounds in strategic nonsense, and the many posters announcing various plays and people.

 _So overall about as charming as my brother Friedrich when he's gotten into the gin stash,_ she thought dryly and grabbed her case before exiting the carriage and nodding to the driver to let him know he could leave.

She watched him pull away from the curb and continue on his way down the busy street. It wasn't until he disappeared from her sight completely that she finally faced the stone staircase before her. _I can still run_ , passed her mind before she took her first step and walked on until she entered the main hall. The heavy doors shut behind her with finality and she found herself inside a grand hall with rich colors of gold and red that screamed aristocracy. She noted another grand staircase and silently wondered if she would be forced to climb many of those during her stay… she hoped not.

The sound of light footsteps suddenly assaulted her ears and she turned to see a small woman coming towards her like a raging bull barely constrained by the horns. Berdine could tell from the way the woman cleary was bouncing on her feet that she was extremely excited about something and backed up a few steps warily. The woman came to a halt just mere feet from her and was about to extend a hand but thought better of it before retracting it just as quickly.

"Good afternoon young Mlle!" Then her gaze turned almost sly when she whispered "Don't worry, M Armand has made it clear to me your… illness."

 _Illness?_ Berdine was puzzled.

"Yes," She barreled right on like some conspirator about to be apprehended "He says you're mute! But don't worry, he invites you here with open arms! Your room is right this way, follow me." And she was off and running again.

But for a few moments, Berdine stood stock still in shock at what she had just heard. Mute… one of her older brothers was mute- had been since he was born. She was quiet, yes, but far from incapable of speech. She had to gather her wits in order to keep from outright laughing. It seems her dear uncle had had a slight mix up in memory who had been the mute of his family, and Berdine wanted to giggle at this opportunity now set before her.

The whole way to Paris she had been conjuring up ways to get out of as much social interaction as she could.

But apparently she wouldn't have to say a damn word.

….

Author's note: Well, I shouldn't really be starting another story but this practically wrote itself. Please review and tell me if I should continue or what you all think.

IiR


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: A terrible Mistake

….

Warnings- None for this chapter

Disclaimer- See chapter 1

….

Madame Giry was furious. As she pointedly made her way down the many hallways of the opera house, her heels clicking with each step, people parted like the Red Sea in order to avoid her scorn. No one wanted to be at the receiving end of the Madame's fury. Why she was upset, none knew for certain, but as she arrived at the manager's office door they found themselves pitying M Moncharmin and M Firmin.

A quick strike to the door alerted the two men inside. "Come in" they called out in unison.

And found out they had made a terrible mistake.

Giry's steel eyes were blazing a steady fire. "May I ask why you have given the order for dressing room three to be reopened?" She hissed.

Both men remained still like prey under the eyes of a temperamental beast, trying their hardest to remember if they had done something out of line. Moncharmin was the first to speak up.

"Ah- yes! You see, my niece is coming up to stay here for a year or two. I thought since the room was currently unoccupied that it would be best if-"

"There is a reason for that dressing room's vacancy M Moncharmin." Giry snapped. "Put the child elsewhere!"

"And where else would he put her, Madame?" Firmin cut in, gaining back some of his authoritative air. "The room is not in use, and as far as I'm concerned we run this opera house, not you. If Armand wishes to put his niece up in dressing room three, then she shall be put in dressing room three."

The woman looked just about poisonous, her eyes narrowed to slits and her mouth soured into a thin line.

"Monsieur, I'm telling you that you are making a grave mistake."

At this Moncharmin threw up his hands. "And where do you suggest I put her, Madame? In the stables? She is no ballet rat, much less a singer, and the dormitories are filled to the brim! Dressing room three is the only available space for her, so that is where she will stay."

"You both are as dense as rock." She scoffed, and spun around on her heel to continue her rampage through the Opera. The men sighed in relief when the sounds of her shoes clicking viciously grew faint. Ever since that night the opera house had seen its darkest, the Madame was never the same. The woman walked on hot coals and shattered glass and had the temper of a rattlesnake. Her poor students received the worst of her wrath, but the managers weren't very far behind them in her seemingly endless supply of anger. They put up with it only because Giry was the best ballet instructor this side of Europe, that and she had been at the Opera longer than anyone there. Her sound judgment and skill at teaching was enough to keep her around- even if it meant enduring her tongue and cheek.

"That woman will be the death of us." Firman sighed before turning back to face his partner and the stack of papers they had yet to go through.

Moncharmin nodded. "To be quite honest with you… she is the only women who truly scares the hell out of me."

….

The grand entrance of the Opera was obviously a big show for the rich that came to see the performances, but beyond the affluent and lavish decor lay an old, wooden dungun. At least, to Berdine that it what it felt like the further they wandered from the foyer and deeper into the heart of the big building. It wasn't necessarily dirty, or even falling apart… it was just old. Old and dark. Not a very cozy environment, she was sure, and was not looking forward to two years of mildewed wood smell and tripping over things she couldn't see.

And to top this experience all off, she now had to live a life of a mute. Berdine supposed she could just end the confusion by confessing that her uncle had made a slight mistake, but where was the fun in that? She would much rather spend her time locked up in whatever room they stuffed her into, reading and spending her days in solitude. She knew from watching her older brother Charlie that people were rather awkward and horrible when it came to things like mutism and had the tendency to make it a bigger deal than it really was. That being said she was hoping for a similar result here, that her estranged uncle would be wary and dare she say it- embarrassed- by her made up affliction and keep her out of the spotlight as much as possible.

Her parents were good about Charlie's birth defect, and loved him as much as they did all of their children. But that didn't stop others from the small town they lived in to avoid her brother like his mutism was a plague. He was picked on by the other children since he was a mere boy, and grew up into an adulthood that was filled with adults who might as well have been children with the way they cracked jokes and outright ignored him.

Berdine herself was not immune to this kind of treatment either, like her brother's cross was her own to bear as well. She got poked fun of for simply having a mute brother and was no stranger to harsh words. She could certainly handle this.

The woman she was following was very small, but no less a woman. The poor thing in all her excitement had yet to even give Berdine her name, and despite the awkwardness of their introduction she had yet to stop talking.

"You'll love it here!" She said this with a mighty flourish of her arms that looked quite funny coming from such a tiny thing, like she was a child trying to conduct an orchestra. She whipped around to face Berdine with a big smile.

"And your room is one from a past rising star."

Berdine quirked an eyebrow.

At this, the woman giggled. She gave off so much animated energy that Berdine found being in her presence exhausting. She supposed the girl was pretty, all thin and graceful looking, with blonde hair and soft brown eyes. She looked kind, if not a bit ditzy.

And suddenly a yawn escaped Berdine's throat.

 _She must be feeding off of my lifesource,_ she thought bitterly.

Her companion leaned in close with a grin, eyes shifting to make sure no one was in hearing range. "Her name was Christine Daae. She was a beautiful singer with the voice of an angel!" She sighed dramatically. "But alas her fame was cut short due to… an incident of sorts."

 _Ah, she must be talking about_ _ **that**_ _girl._ Berdine had heard of a girl who had to quit the stage due to an obsessor that nearly brought down the opera house in his insanity. The story had traveled far because of its obscurity and peculiar nature. No one had ever heard of such thing before, and all of western europe had the tragic tale on their tongues for at least a month before it began to die down. If she remembered correctly, the whole thing had happened almost a year ago, surely the madman was dead and perished if not apprehended by the law, but she certainly didn't remember the story of his arrest.

"The manager's insisted you have it! Can you imagine? Such a beautiful room, surrounded by tragedy!" She continued walking down the large hallway and they passed many doors, each with a number posted on the top frame and the farther they traveled the lower the numbers became, counting down from fifteen until they reached door number three. With a heavy hand the woman unlocked it with a key she then handed over to Berdine before stepping back so the girl could enter her new home for the next two years.

It wasn't big, but it was far from the cramped room she had stayed in at her parents' house. It was filled with things that reminded her of ladies in big beautiful gowns, all frills and lavenders that made the room feel like one, big, extravagant cushion. There was a cot in the far corner, more for napping in than actual sleep for the performers who wished to rest between parts in the performances. She would have to find a way to ask for an actual bed later on. Then her eyes swung the the other side of the room where a makeup vanity sat, unused if the small layer of dust on its surface was any clue. Come to think of it, the whole room looked dusty and abandoned. Maybe even a bit creepy. The last part of the room she noticed was a rather large and obnoxious mirror that was much taller than Berdine thought necessary. The thing could have been a door with how large it was. _Divas_ , she tsked.

Overall not a bad place to stay, it was probably much more comfortable than the cramped dormitories and tiny cells for the stagehands.

"You can place your bags in here, and then I'll take you to see M Moncharmin to announce your arrival. Oh- oh my goodness heavens forgive me dear, I never told you my name! How silly of me! I'm Adeline Fincher." She grabbed one of Berdine's hands and shook it enthusiastically. "What's your name- Oh, I'm sorry! You can't exactly tell me. I didn't mean to be so rude, forgive me."

This woman was so exhausting.

How in the world was she to introduce herself without talking? Her brother had always had one of his family members to introduce him by name, but here she was alone.

Then it hit her.

Berdine tugged on Adeline's dress sleeve to get her full attention before forming her hands into wings, her thumbs hooked together, and flapping them like a bird. The woman gave her a confused frown.

"What? You want to go flying? I don't understand."

Berdine shook her head and puffed a frustrated breath out her nose. She then pointed to herself and then made the flapping motion again, and was relieved when Adeline's eyes lit up in recognition.

"Oh! You're trying to tell me your name!"

Berdine nodded.

"Okay, um-" She tilted her head and stared at the hands flapping once again. "Flapping? Oh, butterfly? No, okay...Bird?"

Berdine nodded but then put her hand up in a 'hold on' gesture. She then drew a 'y' in the air and repeated the flapping bird again. A smile stretched across her companion's face.

"Birdy? Is your name Birdy?"

Berdine nodded in satisfaction. Close enough, she liked her childhood nickname. She had the sneaking suspicion her mother named her Berdine just so she could call her Birdy. Her mother rarely, if ever, called her by Berdine. It was always " _Birdy, could you help me in the kitchen?"_ or " _I love you my sweet, little bird"_.

Adeline seemed to think it was cute, because before she knew what was happening both her cheeks were being pinched. "Aw! That's so adorable!" The woman cooed and shook Berdine's head back and forth by the grip on her skin. "You are absolutely charming! I can't wait to introduce you to Meg! She'll just adore a sweet thing like you. Come on, darling. We have to stop by your uncle's office and then I'll give you a tour."

Her cheeks were released and her arm was grabbed instead only to be yanked forwards with astounding force from such a frail looking woman, and then they were off again down the long corridor and deeper into the belly of the opera house.

….

Armand had never seen his brother's family, nor his brother, after the man married that floozy and ran off to the country- leaving his mother and Armand to tend to the farm themselves. Their father had died a few years prior to Bayard turning twenty, Armand himself was only sixteen at the time and their poor mother had a hard enough time tending to the generous farmland when her husband was still well. With Bayard off in town with his apprenticeship with some business man- though at the time Armand suspected his brother only went to see the man's daughter, who was notorious for sleeping around- it was the younger brother who would have to help their mother around the farm.

Not being able to keep up with the high demand in work, his mother deteriorated quite quickly and just a short four years later she too passed, leaving two sons who had absolutely no interest in farming their father's land. So they sold it and split the money, and by that time Bayard had told him he had decided to marry the local whore (he hadn't exactly said it like that but it was no less the truth) and they had procured a small house in one of the tiny villages still around on the far reaches of France.

Armand had never seen his brother again after that, though the whore found it necessary to send him letters letting him know how they were doing. At first, he received a letter every month, but then they stretched out to once a year, then only when a child was born would he receive one, telling him about the new arrival to the family. It was after their third, the tiny girl who was now being thrust into his life, that the letters stopped completely. He supposed it didn't help that he never bothered to write a response, but what was he to even tell his brother? He never married, never got a proper house, and didn't even find it within him to go out for drinks with the other men his age. The only thing he had to his name was a solid income of 10,000 francs every year and the position of manager at an opera house.

For the past sixteen years, he had heard hide nor hair of his brother, and with all the pent up resentment he decided it would be better off to just forget he even had one. So imagine his surprise when he received a letter in the mail about a month ago, asking if he would allow his niece, Berdine, to come and live within the Opera Populaire for two years and explore Paris a bit.

At first, he wrote out a short note telling his brother in not so many words, that he and his entire family could go drown in a lake and that he had absolutely no interest in babysitting his daughter for such a long period of time. The absurdity of the request in itself was laughable, and he was sure there was family on her mother's side that would be more than willing to take the girl in and 'let her explore'. He had never had any interest in having children, he found them unmanageable and unpredictable, so he most certainly didn't want to start taking care of one now. He had an opera house (a ghost-free one at that) to run after all.

However, the longer he sat and stared at the response to his brother, the more difficult he found to actually put it in an envelope and send it. Suddenly it wasn't even about his brother, but the girl whom he had never even laid eyes on. If he remembered correctly- and he was pretty confident he did- the poor thing was mute, and he remembered in one of those many letters all those years ago he had felt an odd pang at finding out one of his brother's children was born without the gift of speech. At first he wasn't sure of his assumption but it did make perfect sense, send the girl with the defect away from the small town where she was no doubt ridiculed and send her to a big city where she would have more freedom to do as she pleased.

Armand had sat at his desk for what must have been hours, going through the pros and cons of having this stranger he called his niece to come and stay at the opera house. On the one hand, the girl was sixteen, or around that age. She was an adult, of marriageable age, so it wasn't as if he was truly dealing with a small child and would have to keep a very close watch over her during the duration of her stay. But it wasn't like she could go without complete supervision, he had no doubt the girl was pretty (if her mother was anything to go by) and she was mute, the gruff stagehands would have a field day if she was discovered at night wandering alone. He had many cases of this very incident happening numerous times in the past, and had to fire quite a few unscrupulous men from his Opera. Then there was the problem of where to put her. She was no dancer who could be put with the other ballerinas, nor was she a hired help who could be placed with those whom he paid to live here. Besides, those spaces where already filled to the brim and he had no room, even for just one more girl.

Things had been a bit difficult lately, though they were certainly looking up after the chandelier incident. He and Firmin no longer had an angry ghost watching their every move, his singers had stopped disappearing for months at a time, and no more dead bodies dropped down during performances. But now that the opera had reopened he now had many people not only wanting to see the operas performed at the most renowned opera house in all of Europe, but many talented performers had showed up on their doorstep seemingly overnight. His biggest fear after the incident was that they would have to close down the Populaire due to the public's fear of its recent history. But instead they had full houses at all the showings, filled with people who desired a glimpse at the opera house that had been overrun with phantoms, death, and insanity. So instead of having to find another job, Armand and Firmin had had their hands full with trying to keep the order of a suddenly cramped building.

But then he suddenly had an idea.

There was one room at the opera house that remained unoccupied, for no one dared enter in fear of what had occurred there almost a year prior.

Christine Daae's dressing room.

Yes, it was the perfect opportunity to lay everyone's fears to rest about the dead phantom and would appease his brother all at the same time!

So in not so few words, he wrote a letter saying Berdine was welcome to stay at the opera house for as long as she desired.

There was a knock on the door that shook him from his thoughts, and he called out for whoever was there to enter. Firmin was out on business, and had made excuses in order for Armand to be there to receive his niece upon her arrival. The door opened to reveal Adeline, and a pretty, young girl with dark, almost black, locks that flowed down to her trim waist.

His suspicions were correct about the girl, she was a spitting image of her mother. Those same blue eyes that spoke of german descent, and the wavy hair that reminded him of the Arabian horses they had locked up in the stables was staring him in the face just like her mother's own beauty had all those years ago. It was a shame she was tarnished by her defect, for she would make the perfect wife for any man lucky to catch her eye.

He cleared his throat and stepped out from behind his desk. "It's a pleasure to meet you my dear. I am your uncle Armand." He then extended his hand for her to shake.

The girl's grip was unsure, and perhaps even a bit awkward, like she had never exchanged this type of greeting before and she withdrew her hand quickly. Armand silently cursed his brother for not teaching the girl how to give a proper handshake. It seemed he would have to leave her out of social gatherings until he could get her an etiquette instructor.

He then turned to his secretary. "Adeline, this is Berdine. You are to show her around and be her escort of sorts until she gets her bearings of the opera house. Make sure she is comfortable."

The blond frowned. "I thought her name was 'Birdy'?"

"A nickname, I'm sure." He glanced at his niece for confirmation and she nodded. "Do you prefer to be called Birdy?"

Berdine shrugged, indicating she didn't care what she was called. _What a passive creature_ , he thought. "Alright then, I will be addressing you as Berdine, if Mlle Adeline wishes to call you Birdy then so be it." Armand turned and sat back down at his desk, he still had a lot of paperwork that needed to be done. He waved his hand dismissively.

"Off you both go then."

Adeline and Berdine shared a look, but both headed out of the office, shutting the door behind them.

….

The fourth occupant of the room then left as well, though completely undetected by the other three. Erik had been on the other side of the two way mirror, one of hundreds within his opera house. He stalked down the catacombs, in complete darkness, yet he was not hindered in the least and managed to arrive in only a short time to his underground lair.

" _Berdine_." He let the name slide off his tongue like sweet nectar, savoring it.

He went over to his organ and sat down, his fingers caressing the keys tenderly before beginning to play. It was a haunting melody that filled the underground with dark promises and let their master's intentions be known.

She was beautiful. An exotic looking creature who reminded him much of the concubines held in the palace of the Shah who danced with many colorful scarves and jingling bells.

Christine had been a pretty woman, with subtle curves and a doll-like face. But this girl was beauty at its most fiery essence, like a succubus. The girl couldn't have been a day over seventeen, and yet her body was all woman with curves and softness that made his finger itch to touch- to explore.

Yes, this new edition to his collection was a gem among petty rocks. He wouldn't make the same mistakes he did with Christine, he would make sure to seduce the girl to join him in the bowels of hell of her own free will. Like Hades tempted innocent Persephone with the taste of pomegranate seeds, so would he temp this little bird with the promise of the pleasure of a man's touch.

It's true he didn't normally care for those without talent, and besides the girl's stunning beauty she didn't seem to have any use but taking up space in his domain. But that was fine, he had something else planned for her.

"Don't worry, dear child." He whispered, a devious grin stretching across his face. "I might have a use for you yet."

….

Author's note: Well, here's chapter two. Please don't forget to leave a review, even if it's just a little 'please continue' I am a review whore and desire them above all else! *hangs head in shame*

And thank you to those who favorited the first tiny chapter! You guys rock!

IiR


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Always Watching

….

 **Warnings- Some mild sexual content in this chapter** , you have been warned!

Disclaimer- See chapter 1

….

Perhaps Berdine had judged the old opera house too quickly. The further they traveled, the more grand and even borderline charming the place became, though it never quite lost the creepy edge. Adeline was quick to explain every corner, every nook and cranny like she had given birth to the damn place herself, but Berdine had to admit the history behind the architecture itself was fascinating.

"And it wasn't until recently that we discovered that many passageways lie underneath the Opera Populaire, connecting to catacombs and waterways that remain unexplored due to the unstableness of the structures."

Really, now _that_ was interesting…

Something of that nature was mentioned in the infamous tale of the falling chandelier and the tragedy with Mlle Daae. That the masked fiend had been under the opera house the whole time, hiding away from the world and wreaking havoc.

Berdine didn't see how some of the girls her age thought the story was as romantic as it was disturbing. They would sit there and share in the gossip, all the while cooing at how they too wanted a man that would bring down an opera house in his jealousy, and would love them enough to want to keep them all to himself.

" _It' so romantic!"_ They had all sighed together, their doe eyes wide with wonder.

It was most certainly _not_ romantic, in Berdine's mind. What the Monsieur did to Mlle Daae was anything but love. Love is sacrifice, love is kind, and love is patient- pure in all forms and the light within the darkness. Yes, love could be selfish, love could be passionate, even sometimes eager- but what the Phantom failed to grasp was that when love is not welcome, it bows out gracefully and leaves.

No, what he had experienced was something born from anger and resentment, the childish need to have something one couldn't. He didn't want to share the shiny, new toy he had stolen from the rich boy and so he hid it away in the hopes no one ever went looking for it. And when the toy was eventually missed and searched for he fought to keep it, yelling and screaming why it was _he_ who deserved it and no one else. When the toy was finally found, he threw a tantrum and spent the rest of his days sulking at the unfairness of the world.

 _Love_ wasn't anything close to that.

Yes, the man- at least from what she heard- was disfigured, maybe even horribly so but that was no excuse. Her own brother can't even communicate to his fellow human beings, can never express with his mouth what he's thinking or feeling. Can't ever tell his beloved wife that he loves her more than life itself. But that certainly doesn't stop him from trying.

She remembers a time when she was still just a tiny thing, maybe no more than seven, and her brother Charlie brought her out to a small pond not far from their home. Like the elaborate game she was playing now, Berdine would sit and pretend she was mute like her brother (though at that age she was very bad at it), and they would sit for hours and try to communicate with each other without words. Her brother, for obvious reasons, was always much better at it than she was. He would use his hands and the objects around him to create all sorts of thoughts and happenings, always elaborate but never hard to understand. Berdine's efforts were sad and terribly simple but she she managed to play along well enough that she didn't quit from becoming too frustrated.

It had been Charlie's favorite game, and she made sure they played it as much as they could.

Well, one day he brought her out to that pond like he always did and sat her down looking at her and smiling. He held up a finger and pointed at himself, indicating he would be going first. She watched with concentrated eyes as he knelt in front of her on one knee, taking her hand and gently squeezing it with both of his, looking into her eyes before one of his hands let go. He brought it to his chest where he touched the spot his heart was beating, held it for a second, before bringing it to her own heart and resting it there, squeezing her hand again.

That was the first time her brother 'told' her he loved her.

The words had never left his lips but yet to this day she recalls the utter happiness she felt that was equally shared with Charlie. For years after, she had watched as the world beat her brother to a pulp, witnessed the bruises from fist fights and the emotional hurt from the misconception that because he was a mute, he wasn't a human being with his own dreams and feelings. And despite all this, her brother had moved forward and found his own reason for living- married a wife and worked to support her like all other men do for their loved ones. Charlie had made his place in this world of cruelty and unfairness- and never once had he killed innocent lives or kidnapped pretty opera singers in order to do it.

Berdine had lost herself within this rant, and by the time she came back to herself Mlle Fincher had brought them to the theatre stage itself. They were walking down one of the many aisles, plush carpeting cradling her feet and stopping her footsteps from echoing around the cavernous ceilings high above them. The mighty stage stretched before her in all its glory, and from the looks of it, ballerinas were having their practice. Berdine never grasped how skinny and lean these girls were, all graceful limbs that stretched and bent like tree branches. Her own body was womanly, where these girls were muscular and taut she was soft and round. Not necessarily plump, but not even close to trim and fit like what was before her now- twirling and leaping through the air like birds.

There was also an older woman standing off to the side, observing the dancers and offering corrections when a mistake was made or praise was needed. She was beautiful in her own mature way, motherly-looking with her graying hair pulled back into a neat bun. As if she knew Berdine was watching her, the woman turned to look at her sharply, those soft eyes turning to steel when the woman had had a good once over. She glanced up into the catwalks before returning her gaze to a puzzled Berdine, shaking her head with what seemed like pity before once again turning her attention to the dancers, snapping the cane she held against the ground when two girls collided.

"Pay attention!" She boomed.

It was then Berdine noticed practically all eyes now glued to her form from where she stood, just slightly behind Adeline in the many rows of seats. They were gaping, mesmerized and some had even quit dancing to look at her. The large theatre suddenly felt very small.

The dance instructor sighed irritably before giving up. "Mlle Fincher, what is the meaning of this?"

Adeline suddenly gasped, embarrassed. "Pardon me Madame Giry! I was just- um- giving our guest a tour of the building. I figured it was important she know her way around."

"And you find it important enough to barge in on my lesson and distract my dancers?"

"Oh no, no, no! I wouldn't, Madame! We'll just be on our way then." Adeline turned to Berdine, "Let's go dear."

 _What a hag_ , Berdine wrinkled her nose and almost leaned in to whisper her thoughts to Adeline, but managed to catch herself in time. This hadn't been the first time she almost slipped since she arrived to her new home and she would have to learn to keep her mouth shut. It was easier only because she was uncomfortable, and didn't care to talk to people she didn't know. There were a few girls at home that Berdine could call her friends, but they weren't many and they weren't really close. She liked to keep her heart to herself she supposed.

Her mother had told her when she was little that every time she became close to someone, intimate, she would be giving a piece of her heart to them. Her mother had been very serious about this, stressing that she needed to be careful of who she gave her heart to and how many.

" _Take it from someone who knows, little birdy, that your heart can only love so much- can only stretch so thin. I myself had to learn this the hard way, don't be givin' your love away to people who only want to hurt you."_

Berdine had taken this piece of advice and carried it like a heavy cross on her shoulders. A reminder that her love was limited, and letting people carry pieces of her heart was something precious indeed.

Her hand was grabbed by the soft one of Mlle Fincher, and they had only taken a few steps to leave when they heard, "Pardon my rudeness... if you wish to sit and watch you may," Then Giry added as an afterthought, "But keep quiet."

A few of the younger dancers giggled, but were silenced with a nearly poisonous glare from their Madame. Adeline and Berdine took a seat in the fourth row from the stage, and without the crowd of heads that would normally be present, the view was wonderful. She could see every part of the wide stage without having to constantly turn her head. The entire stage itself was elaborate, and she could faintly make out carvings along the outer rim in the wood, not to mention how big it was compared to the rest of the room. It was certainly meant to be the center of attention, and was as grand and beautiful as the rest of the room.

The dancers had regained their composure once again and took their places along the stage, the taller and older dancers behind the younger ones. They were all dressed in nearly depressing attire, the leotards a light blue- almost grey- and flowing skirts a dark charcoal that was shimmery and translucent in the bright lights. As they began to move about in dance, Berdine noticed the slow, graceful poses as if the ballerinas were swimming through viscous fluid, each movement incredibly sluggish. It was a pretty routine, she supposed, but at this rate she was going to be put to sleep.

Suddenly, the hairs at the back of her neck stood on end. Prickling needles tickled down her spine, and fine beads of sweat appeared on her brow. Berdine shivered but remained with her eyes facing the stage. It was as if she was frozen by another's will, her body no longer listening to her attempts to look behind her. She could feel eyes on the back of her head, piercing her very core with their intensity. She had never felt such a thing before, but instincts told her exactly what she needed to do… Run.

Berdine was suddenly very afraid.

This went on for about another three minutes, and just as she was about to tug on Adeline's arm to signal she wanted to get the hell out of there, a whispering voice sounded near them.

"So this is the new girl I've heard so much about."

Adeline squealed quietly in delight and turned around to greet a girl near Berdine's age, her dark hair pulled into a bun and wearing attire similar to the dancers on the stage. She was thin, and had the face of a cherub, her cheeks rosy and lips thin but not terribly so. She had long, strong legs and a tiny waist- definitely a dancer.

Berdine almost sighed in relief.

"Meg, what are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be in town today?" Adeline inquired as Meg took a seat beside her.

"Nah, I wanted to be here to help Mama with her class. I already know the routine by heart." The girl then turned her gaze to Berdien. "So new girl, is it true you can't talk?"

"Meg!" Adeline looked like she was ready to faint. "You are so rude sometimes!"

Meg rolled her eyes, "Well, you never know around here, I was also told she was ugly and had only one leg." She looked to Berdine again, "I see they were wrong on both accounts." She giggled.

Berdine didn't know if she wanted to laugh or snort. People were so idiotic.

Adeline at least had the decency to look mortified on behalf of her very blunt friend. "I'm so sorry about this, Birdy. Meg is a little devil."

"Aw! Her name is Birdy?" Meg giggled again.

"Yes and no, her real name is Berdine. But I call her Birdy."

"Birdy it is then!"

"If you are going to continue to talk, then I would greatly appreciate it if you all left!" The Madame's voice sounded off from the stage, her dark eyes glaring in the trios' direction with sharp reprimand.

"Oops," Said Meg, "Looks like we've outstayed our welcome. Who wants some dinner?"

….

She was so _tired._ Who knew that Meg was just as talkative as Adeline? The two were like gossiping machines, every breath was spent on talking the night away- like they never again would have the opportunity to say something. Berdine hadn't even needed to keep herself in check at dinner, because she was pretty sure it would have been impossible to fit a word in anywhere. She was just as much disgusted as she was impressed.

She had learned a great deal however, about everyone who was anyone at the Opera Populaire. They had discussed Carlotta the most however- the conniving Diva with a nasty temper and even nastier personality. Looks like she had someone there to avoid as much as possible. The woman sounded outright unpleasant to say the least. Apparently the Phantom had thought so too, if the countess stories of pranks he played on Carlotta were any hint. Too bad the women was so stubborn.

Berdine entered the old dressing room and looked around. It was exactly how she left it, nothing out of place, no… mysterious notes or anything of that ilk. It seemed Meg's stories during the evening had gotten to her a bit. It wasn't like her to believe in such fanciful tales, but these were no tales.

They were true events.

And that in itself was enough for her to be cautious when settling down for the night. She undressed quickly, very weary of the mirror that hung on the wall overlooking the room.

" _I heard he spied on her through the mirror in her dressing room, that he would speak to her and she actually believed he was an angel or something."_

 _Maybe it wouldn't hurt to cover it…_ Berdine thought and went over to the cot, grabbing one of the sheets that were folded in a stack at the foot of it. She then brought it over to that ominous mirror and threw it over the damn thing. It was mostly covered, but the bottom part still peeked out however, that was fine. Just as long as the majority of it stayed out of sight Berdine might actually get a wink of sleep tonight.

She settled down in the narrow cot, uncomfortable as it was, pulling a couple of the remaining sheets over her body. With the brief prayer it wouldn't be too terribly cold tonight, Berdine quickly fell into an exhausted sleep.

….

 _She was aware suddenly. Not awake, just aware she was in a dream. At least, it could only have been a dream, with the voice she was hearing. It was warm, and masculine._

" _Berdine, my sweet little child."_

 _A feeling of hot ran down her leg as a hand touched her thigh, stroking it in the gentlest way- almost as if petting her. The hand was large, strong, and the things it was currently doing were so inappropriate that Berdine knew she would be blushing profusely if this wasn't a dream. But because it was she decided to enjoy it._

" _You are simply_ _ **stunning**_ _." The voice whispered._

 _Those hands, two of them now, began to travel upwards towards her breasts, the fingertips just touching underneath them before disappearing. Berdine let out a whimper before she could help herself._

 _The voice chuckled. "Yes child, crave my touch. You will soon learn you cannot live without it. For I will make sure no man can please you but myself."_

 _Then the voice melted into an angry growl. "I will not make the same mistake twice."_

 _And then it was gone._

….

Author's note: Hey guys! I want to thank all of you who reviewed the last two chapters! You guys are beyond awesome! And a big thanks to those who faved and followed!

dp10414: Sorry, didn't know if the site would delete your name so I didn't capitalize the first two characters *shrugs* But I wanted to thank you for catching my errors, I really appreciate it! And don't worry, I can take constructive criticism! Give me more! I can't always know what the readers like, and outside help is always needed in my opinion, so thank you.

sesshomaru'sginstuki: Thank you so much for your review! I loved hearing what you think, and you were spot on! And I guess she's an introvert. I know all about them after all- I am one XD But it goes a bit deeper than just being an introvert, though, that's part of it.

Chaiteaandwalnuts: I'm glad you like my idea, I've tried to find a story similar to this idea that's been floating around in my head for years but never did. So I just decided to take matters into my own hands. I hope you keep loving this story as it progresses!

Well, that's all for now! Hope you all enjoyed, please leave a review. They keep me motivated!

Oh! And to take the advice of DP here are some questions for you guys!

1\. Do you like my version of the Phantom? What can I change or keep the same?

2\. Do you like Berdine? Is she too much of a mary sue? If so, what can I do to fix that?

3\. Am I doing the other characters justice? (Giry, Meg, Moncharmin, etc)

Till next time!

IiR


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Naughty Girl

….

Warnings- Just a general creepiness for this chapter, and minor language.

Disclaimer- See chapter 1

….

She woke up in a slight panic, not recognising her surroundings. It was only when she saw her reflection staring back at her from the big, gaudy mirror across the room that she breathed a sigh of relief. She was at the opera house, arrived yesterday after about three days of travel, she was here with her Uncle.

Berdine sighed.

Sunlight shined through the windows and she realised she had slept in till about nine. Odd for her but understandable due to the late night she had and days of poor sleep before she arrived. What time did she even need to be up anyway? She didn't exactly have a set schedule, and no one had come to fetch her. Berdine sat up and winced, her hand coming up to rub at her neck. The cot made for an awful bed, and she would have to figure out how to request a proper one later.

Rather reluctantly, she crawled out of bed and went over to her pack of personal belongings. Her parents had given her quite the allowance in order to buy herself new clothes so she wouldn't require to bring so much with her. She'd have to do some shopping later on today, perhaps Meg or Adeline would be willing to come along and show her some of the cheaper stores around the area. For now, she settled with a simple blue dress her mother had fondly made for her sometime last year. Berdine was lucky she still fit. Once she was dressed she grabbed a brush and went over to the mirror to remove last night's tangles, the sheet she'd covered it with folded and placed on the floor.

She froze.

Berdine stared at the sheet with something akin to uneasy confusion. There was no doubt in her mind that the sheet had been secure in its hanging position over the gaudy mirror last night, the possibility of it having fallen off were slim to none, and if it did somehow manage to fall that wouldn't even begin to explain how the sheet ended up folded to perfection and sat itself neatly on the floor. Someone had been in her room.

Chills ran down her spine. This didn't make sense.

 _Perhaps they didn't know I was staying in this room? But even so, to come in when I was asleep… Maybe it was Adeline, or Meg? But the sheet? Why would they come in just to remove the sheet?_

She began to pace the room, her mind started to run away to possibilities she would rather not explore- perverted stagehands, thieves, murderers, and the like made her heart rate skyrocket and her hands clammy. Should she ask for another room? Maybe she could tell her uncle what was happening...

 _And ruin the charade?_

Damn! Berdine grabbed at her hair in frustration. How ever would she communicate this to people who treated her supposed mutism like it was a supernatural phenomenon? They had probably never even heard of sign language! Her brother had had it easy, she then realized, he had been surrounded by people who actually took the time to learn his ways of communicating and put forth an effort to make his life as a mute easier. There would be no such support here, she was a freak and everyone thought the plague followed her.

Her eyes went to the sheet again, then the mirror. Was it really important enough to reveal her little prank? She wasn't injured in any way. What if it was only Meg or Adeline, and she was worried for nothing? Despite how she was ranked low on the totem pole here she wasn't at the very bottom either. She was kinda treated like a pet, she guessed, and the two women from yesterday had no problems with taking 'care' of her. If she arrived to the Opera with the ability to speak, she had a sinking feeling friends wouldn't be as easily made.

Berdine wasn't a charming, life-loving, young women that people flocked to. She shared her world views with her rather cynical, eldest brother- who believed rich people could burn in hell and poor people were lazy dopes with no imagination. She didn't truly think for herself on most things, she had her opinions of course, but none that she could truly call her own. Berdine supposed she could blame this on society, who had no interest in letting women think for the sake of thinking, so her idea of the world originated from her father and brothers.

She also wasn't much for the social setting. People were not her forte, she couldn't act the part of a proper lady or an air-headed beauty, and despite her desperate attempts to make herself seem presentable to the public, her mouth often shadowed any efforts to appear 'female'. She wasn't delicate, she was a country girl with little to no education and a body for bearing children. Come to think of it, that may have been her only positive quality...

 _And I don't even want children_ , she thought miserably.

No, this was something she could fix, there was a lock on the doorknob that she had dismissed yesterday simply because they didn't lock the doors of her parents house, but obviously the trusting attitude of those in her small village town carried could not be applied to the Opera Populaire. In fact, she was learning quite quickly that many of her personal expectations couldn't be applied here. Berdine sighed irritably, glaring heatedly at the mirror who simply wore the same expression.

After dressing, Berdine left her room and made her way down the long corridors on her search for either breakfast, or Adeline. Meg would have been okay too, but the girl was a bit too… much for her this early in the day.

What she ended up with though, was much worse.

Before she could even get to the next hall she was intercepted by none other than Madame Giry, the older women as stern and unhappy as she was yesterday, an impenetrable wall of ice that everyone that came into contact with her could feel even as they turned to run in the opposite direction. Berdine was momentarily stunned at seeing the women, as if she was an apparition coming to tell her of the second coming.

There were no pleasantries exchanged, no "good mornings" or "how are you's". The Madame ripped right to the point, pushing past even introductions, though, Berdine had a sneaking suspicion that Giry could have cared less about who she was. Berdine's arm was quickly grabbed and her body yanked to stand up against the wall, the woman now blocking her from any escape as her steel eyes glared down at the younger girl.

"I know of your unfortunate handicap, but it makes things much easier for me." The woman began. She spoke in quiet but firm tones, and spared a glance at the rafters above them before continuing.

"You must leave this place."

Berdine's eyes widened, confusion and borderline anger crashing at her mouth as her lips twitched. Looking back at this very incident she would later realize that she would have given herself away here without even realizing it, a retort just touching the tip of her tongue, but thankfully the Madame plowed right through.

"I don't care how you manage, but I want you gone. If you need money or transportation I can provide both, but it must be today. I will make excuses for you to your uncle. I cannot tell you why, but know that it would be a poor decision on your part to remain here."

 _What?!_ Her head was spinning with this new predicament. An open door had provided itself to her, she now had a way home without having to do much of anything! She could go back to her home in the little town with all the familiar faces, and never have to venture into Paris again. She could make something up on the way home of why she had returned so suddenly, perhaps her dear uncle wasn't up for the responsibilities that came with taking care of a young woman, or they just didn't have the room for her there. This was exactly what she had been waiting for!

Berdine gave the older woman a firm nod.

….

Madame Giry sighed in relief when the child agreed to her rather last minute proposition. Her mind had been busy since late last night trying to come up with a plan of action regarding this young woman. When _he_ had approached her yesterday morning, after the opera house had filled with the incessant rumors surrounding the niece of M. Moncharmin, showing interest in the girl, she knew for the sake of the Opera and everyone in it she had to act fast. Get the girl out- that was the only thing she could think of- remove her from the picture and eliminate the possibility of a problem ever forming. Madame Giry had learned a great deal from the Christine incident, and never again wanted a repeat of that particular performance.

This was just safer, and the girl really had no place here in the woman's opinion. The child was a mute, and far from a dancer worthy of any stage. The girl probably couldn't even serve in the costume and makeup department. Yes, it would be best for everyone if the girl went back to whatever backwater she came from.

"Good then, off you go! I'll come and fetch you later so be sure you've grabbed everything you need."

As the two went to part ways a flitter of paper made itself known when it floated down between was an awkward moment of silence as they both just stared at the note, one face expressing curiosity while the other had a face full of dread.

It was an envelope, with a skull and crossbones stamped into freshly melted, red wax. The paper was thick and elegant- expensive, Berdine noted. She looked up into the rafters and squinted to look and see who had tossed it down to them, but saw nothing above but darkness.

Both women continued to stare, neither one willing to be the one to pick it up. But soon after the first, a second note- this one just a small parchment with the words ' _Dear Madame Giry'_ scrolled across the top in elegant script.

With lightning speed a hand swiped up the second paper and before Berdine could blink the woman walked away from her and down the hall like she had never even been there to begin with.

 _Stranger and stranger_ …

Unsure of what to do with it, she picked up the envelope with careful hands, turning it over only to discover a single word scrawled across the middle in black-

 _ **Berdine**_

….

Erik was beyond furious. Leave it to the old wench to ruin everything he had so carefully planned out. Send his new plaything away would she? No! He refused to let this opportunity slip from his grasp.

He could live with the fact that Christine abandoned him for that pathetic pup, he wasn't happy about it, but he could learn to slowly let it go. However, letting Giry take away his second chance wasn't a possible outcome he could accept. This was his opportunity to get out of here, to make something of himself. He could finally become a normal man.

The girl, Berdine, was beautiful. This he couldn't deny, but unlike the former diva the girl was far from perfect. Her beauty was jaded by her lack of speech, and no sane man would wed a girl who could give his legacy a birth defect.

Good thing he was far from sane. Desperate even, he supposed.

Yes, the girl would be a perfect wife. She could give him children, comfort, pleasure, and a life that had up until this point been denied to him. And the best part about it was she couldn't tell a soul about his face, or even his more violent tendencies. She could know all about the monster who wed her, it wouldn't make any difference to him. She couldn't run off to gossip with a Vicomte about it, afterall.

Erik watched the girl below from the darkness in the rafters as she bent to pick up his letter. Her body tensed as her eyes scanned her name written on it. His eyes crinkled in amusement as his little pet looked up to him once more, then glanced around the deserted hallway before she scurried back to the dressing room.

He chuckled. "Run away, little bird. But realise that as long as you are within these walls there is nowhere you can hide from _me_."

….

 _This can't be happening..._

Her eyes scanned the letter for the third time in the past ten minutes. Berdine paced the small room, which only seemed to be getting smaller the longer she stared at the words that- she feared- were meant for her and her alone.

At first she was terribly confused, maybe even amused at the audacity of the note written with a careful, masculine hand. The language was elegant, but direct in its meaning, and Berdine found herself in quite the delicate situation and she wasn't sure how to proceed from here.

She had opened the letter in the privacy of the dressing room, read through it only to burst out laughing… but then she re-read it. Chills ripped down her spine the longer she stared at the sentences strung together to create a single message: she had a stalker of sorts.

 _ **Dear Miss Berdine,**_

 _ **I understand you have come to stay at my opera house under the watchful eye of your uncle. I say this, of course, lightly as we both know how much your dearest uncle cares little for your wellbeing.**_

 _ **I am known by many names, not all of which I can disclose at this time, but you may know me by one in particular- the Phantom of the Opera. Ridiculous in its entirety but I suppose a man such as myself deserves to be known as a ghost. To make a long and unnecessary story short and on point, I simply ask that you stay here at my opera with the expectation that I will be watching your every move, and making up for the lack in ambition of your wretched uncle. I assure you that, under my care, you will find your stay here pleasant.**_

 _ **Despite what you may have heard I am a very understanding individual, and know that I have been informed of your deformity. I care not for it. It doesn't bother me. Your beauty more than makes up for it.**_

 _ **I will be visiting you often soon enough. Our first meeting has already taken place, and oh- how wonderful it was. You are so very beautiful when you sleep, my darling.**_

 _ **I look forward to seeing you again.**_

 _ **Your obedient servant,**_

 _ **E**_

 _What an ass_ , she snorted in distaste. Whoever this was, she was pretty sure it wasn't the infamous 'Opera Ghost' who was long since dead. The note was creepy, yes, but not entirely alarming. He (and she assumed it was indeed a male) wasn't truly threatening her, and perhaps was just pulling a practical joke. Now the only question remained… what was she to do about it?

Madame Giry's proposal lingered in her mind, and she still intended to take her up on her offer- especially after reading the letter. The only problem she faced was whether or not to inform the women of the content staring back at her from the slightly perfumed page. Was it really that important, or could she get away without having to bring it up? Probably, after all she was mere hours away from getting out of this whole situation altogether. What did she care if this crazed man went after someone else.

 _It's not your problem, let them deal with it_ , she decided.

Without another glance at the letter, Berdine began to frantically pack her things in the small traveling case. For the first time in days she was actually happy about the prospect of travel. She missed home, and missed the familiarity of everything- from the smell of manure to her mother's laugh as her father grabbed her waist and forced her into an awkward dance around the kitchen. She missed the way her brother's wife would bring her girly gifts on their monthly visits like perfume and scarves. Normally from their home in the north, but also from other places they traveled. She wanted to wake up to the scent of horses and grass, the morning sun glowing in her window. She needed to feel her mother's arms again. It had only been a few days since her trip, but already she felt the effects of being on her own. God how she longed for home again.

She was so _alone_ here.

She had no real friends, and her uncle could hardly be called family. She was the odd girl who couldn't speak, in a place filled to the brim with talented, beautiful people, and she wanted **out**.

Once packed and ready, she wandered down to the mess hall and had a quick bite to eat before she went back to the dressing room and waited for the Madame to come fetch her. She figured that it wouldn't be long now, as the woman made it sound like the greatest urgency that she get out of the Opera and on her merry way. So she sat herself on the cot and passed the time by twirling a loose string on her dress.

And there she sat…

And waited…

And waited…

By the time she came back to herself and realized that Giry might not be coming after all, she was humming. It was the first time she had made a sound since she arrived and her voice was a little worse for wear. Berdine supposed that she was a good singer- not an opera diva by any means- but she could carry a tune when it counted. That was, in part, how she received the nickname 'birdy'.

She remembered the day shortly after her parents forced her into the trip to Paris, she had been singing with her mother as she made dinner, her father not too far away fiddling with some contraption that stopped working hours previous. The whole house smelled of bread and stew, warmed by the fire, and the living room glowed orange with the flames.

 _Her mother suddenly broke into giggles. "Oh, my sweet Birdy! Keep singing like that and the Phantom will take you away from us! Just like he did with… oh what was that girl's name?"_

 _Her father jumped into the conversation. "Daae, Darling- her name was Daae. And you know that Phantom shit is a bunch of whoo-ha! Besides, Birdy has to actually have real talent to be able to sing in an opera."_

" _Oh Bayard! How cruel of you! Birdy sings beautifully!"_

 _He snorted. "There's a difference between singing and_ _ **Opera**_ _singing Margret. Just because a girl can sing doesn't mean shit unless her voice is as strong as ten men and pretty as all the king's treasure."_

Her father had been more than right. It would take years of training to turn her voice into half of what someone like Carlotta's was. Besides, she hated the thought of performing and it was something she would never consider.

She sat for another ten minutes, just to be sure the Madame wasn't simply late (even if there wasn't a specified time she most assuredly should have been here by now) before she rose from the cot and decided to search out the woman herself.

It was a pity she never realised there was another occupant in the room with her- listening, observing, just like he promised. He had watched the girl the entire time, and imagine his surprise when the little siren began to _sing_. The creature could actually sing! She was no mute! Granted her voice was horrible to his ears… but there was potential there. His mind began to spin with possibilities that suddenly revealed themselves with the girl's deception.

Once the initial shock dissipated, a predatory smile stretched across his face.

" _Naughty_ girl."

….

Madame Giry sat staring at the parchment lying on the desk in front of her. On the top of the page read: _**Dear Madame Giry,**_ but that's not what frightened her. No, it was what came after that.

 _ **Stay out of my way.**_

That was it, then. Erik had an uncanny ability of bring out the fear in most people, he knew how to tweak a person just right in order to get the response he wanted- a skilled magician of the mind. It wasn't necessarily the words themselves that bothered her, though that was in part as to why the other thing attached to the note was so frightening.

It was a single, dark hair that was held onto the paper with melted wax, curling ever so slightly.

To some it might not click what Erik was trying to tell her here, but she was a mother and could recognise a strand of her daughter's hair anywhere. It was a threat, not to her, but her young daughter who only had a taste of the monster that lurked deep inside of the man who had loved her friend Christine. Giry had a fear growing inside since the evening Christine had come to her asking for a way out of Erik's clutches. It was a gnawing ache deep in her chest, below her heart that seemed to tug every time his shadow lurked above them all- out of reach of reason or emotion.

Berdine had stopped by a short while ago, an annoyed look upon the child's face. The Madame couldn't help but notice how isolated the girl was. She supposed it made sense, being a disabled female in a world like this wasn't promising in the aspects of being successful and sought after. Maybe the girl's pretty face would help, but she doubted it. Only royalty had the kind of luxury to pick a woman based solely on her looks, the peasant and middle classes wanted a working broad that could farm and birth male heirs to take over the work when the father died- all the while not giving said children disabilities.

She could see what Erik saw in such a girl, she was pretty, silent, and deformed. A social outcast just like he was, who would be able to grasp the loneliness he himself felt. Christine, bless her heart, wasn't able to understand Erik. She could sympathise, but the girl- from the time she was just a babe- was doted on and treated like a porcelain doll. Christine was loved by all, and therefore never experienced what it meant to live a life of solitude and rejection. And despite what Erik thought this was not the girl's fault by any means, it was just in her nature to be kind and loving, and it was in society's nature to love the beautiful.

The Madame had to send Berdine away with the pathetic excuse of 'something has come up', in the hopes of actually taking back her offer altogether. She didn't have the heart to tell the child that, though. But it was too late for either of them now, Giry especially.

All they could do now was sit back and hope the damage wouldn't destroy them all.

….

Author's note: Wow, this chapter took a ton of my time to write. And even now I'm not truly happy with how it turned out. Pain in my ass if you ask me. But enough of my bitching, what did you all think?

A big thank you to everyone who reviewed, you guys are so awesome! I can't even say how grateful I am to you all.

Question time!

1\. What do you think will happen now that our favorite phantom has discovered Berdine's secret?

2\. What do you think of Berdine herself? Still likeable? Not so much? Why or why not?

3\. If there is one thing you could add to this story what would it be?

Thanks again!

IiR


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Eyes in the Walls

….

Warnings- brief sexual content

Disclaimer- See chapter 1

….

"Birdy!"

Berdine turned to face the long-legged Meg as the girl ran to catch up with her, her long curls bouncing in a maddening way that her thin body lacked. Berdine had been wandering the halls, lost and terribly confused since she had stopped in to see the Madame about leaving the opera house. She couldn't understand what had changed in the short time her and Giry had parted ways. Could the letter have had a part to play? In her discovery of a would-be stalker, she had completely forgotten about the second note that dropped from the rafters that morning. What had it said to make the steadfast woman change her mind? Maybe this was bigger than she first thought.

A smile tried to break the haunted look on her face, so Meg wouldn't think something was wrong and prod for answers- or worse yet, leave her in favor of better company. Despite not really liking the dancer, she would rather not be alone right now to stew on this ever growing puzzle that sat heavily in her stomach. She needed Meg's bright smile and outrageous gossip.

"Have you heard what Carlotta said to the Director this morning?"

Berdine shook her head.

"Well, I heard from Clarice that she…"

And she let herself be swept away with stories of the snotty Diva and her laughable antics. She didn't necessarily dislike Carlotta, but she had a feeling it would be best to stay far away from the temperamental woman. She wasn't well received within the ranks here at the opera, and to Berdine's understanding she had been the brunt of many pranks from the presumed dead opera ghost. Some of them, she had heard, were even life threatening. Why the horrid women chose to stay only told Berdine that Carlotta loved and valued the fame she received more than her own life. Only empty people relied on things like stardom or prestige to bring them happiness, and she had a sinking feeling Carlotta drowned in both in order to keep herself satisfied.

They ended up backstage where some of the performers were warming up and slipping into bulky, colorful costumes that Berdine thought looked just absurd. The humming voices carried cheerful tunes to match the bright pinks and light blues, along with the many feathers sticking out of hats and wigs alike. She wasn't entirely sure what opera was being performed opening night, but it looked to be some sort of heartfelt comedy. It seemed to her that in order to coax back a weary audience the Opera had to promise a fun performance with pretty pastels and lots of expensive alcohol.

Berdine, at one point in her life, imagined what it would be like to become an opera diva. Most young girls did in this day and age. It was a profession that was highly frowned upon- taboo even. She used to wonder why that was, and when she grew older she figured out it was due to the… experiences some women had while working as a pretty dancer or singer. How the men would kiss them, touch them, the things they would call out, or the costumes that would tease with their plunging necklines or hugging corsets. There were a few women like these that lived in Berdine's small hometown, that would dress up and paint their faces for the lecherous men who would let themselves be lightened of their coins. Her mother often called them _petty thieves_. She never quite grasped the appeal of doing such things. To someone such as herself, touching someone else made her uncomfortable. She didn't even like hugging her own parents, not to say she hated them, just the tightening in her chest and sickly dropping of her gut whenever she let someone that close.

Her mother told her it was okay to be this way, human contact wasn't for everyone after all, and everyone had their own way of showing affection.

" _It's fine, little birdy. You don't have to like it, that's what makes you completely unique."_

" _But you and daddy hug all the time, and kiss, and daddy will sometimes pet your head."_

" _Well, we like things like that. That doesn't mean you have to like it though. You like words better, darling, and that's just as good."_

A known fact in her household was this: if her mother said it was alright, then it was. Margret liked teaching her children that being different was okay, especially for Charlie's sake. And all three Lefevre children grew up knowing that the little quirks were okay to have, that they weren't freaks of nature for it.

Berdine's heart burned with longing. She suddenly felt incredibly homesick.

"Hey Birdy, look at this!"

Meg had steered her towards the long racks filled with costumes from previous performances. The dancer had pulled out a flowing ball gown with many dazzling sequins that made the fabric almost blinding to look at directly. It was hideous. She couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of play demanded the prima donna wear something so blaringly abhorrent.

"Isn't it pretty?" Meg asked.

Berdine shook her head violently in protest. That thing was downright gaudy, and she was confident not even Carlotta would feel comfortable wearing it.

Meg's smile faded, "You don't think it's pretty? Well I do… alright, what about this one."

She pulled out another ball gown, this one was baby blue with satin trimmings and white lace that, while adorable, was something she would expect to find on an infant and not a fully grown woman. She grimaced.

Meg, the poor thing, just huffed in frustration. "It would seem we don't have the same taste in fashion, Mlle Birdy." she took a step back from the costumes and with a wave and a theatrical bow she gestured to the rack. "If my taste fails to please you, then show me which ones _you_ prefer."

And just like that, Berdine felt the need to comply. Meg had that way about her that made people listen to her. She was boisterous and yet utterly charming with that smile that would bloom upon her face when she was particularly amused. She had an air of confidence, and a hint of that power that her mother, the Madame, held like a sword sheathed at her side. Meg was everything that Berdine wasn't, and that was the only thing driving Berdine to pick out the one dress she thought was more beautiful than any other.

Her hands skirted through the numerous multicolored fabrics. There were many gowns, some of them had the giant poofing skirts, others were meant to slim the female form with long trains and skin-clinging materials. They were all nice to look at, she supposed, but none of them were beautiful. They were _loud, obnoxious,_ or _downright lewd._

"Not finding anything? Surely there must be something here you like…" Meg stepped up next to her and began to pull out the dresses herself, holding them up for Berdine to inspect. "What about this one? No? Okay… how about this? No?"

She swore they went through every single ladies attire the Opera owned, right down to the ballerina's outfits. Not one appealed to Berdine.

"You're too picky!" Meg finally gave up with a stomp of her foot. She puffed her cheeks and squinted at her new friend, stepping so there was only a few inches between them. Berdine's eyes went wide and she had to hold in her screech of protest as Meg's hands cupped her face forcefully and her forehead rested against her own.

"You're unbelievable! This is the Opera Populaire! We've gathered every style known to Western Europe both ancient and modern alike. How in all of _France_ have you _not_ seen _**one**_ that you like?"

Taking Meg's hands in hers, Berdine tried to not seem like her heart was attempting to escape her chest when she took a few steps back and away from the frustrated ballerina. She calmed when the girl stayed where she was and didn't seek to touch her again but instead folded her long arms and cocked a hip. A move she no doubt learned from Madame Giry.

Berdine just smiled and shrugged her shoulders, doubting very much that this place had every style known to Western Europe among these racks. It was clear they favored ball gowns, and perhaps a few good pieces from ancient greece but not much more. Meg was a very sheltered girl if she thought that this collection was all there was to women's fashion. Opera attire wasn't a good comparison to what _real_ women wore, after all.

Seemingly bored with this rummage through the costume department, Meg suddenly turned when the sounds of drums and laughter came from the stage.

"Come now Birdy!" The dancer once again sized her hand and began to drag her along from the backstage into the auditorium. Berdine could see the main players all situated on the stage, Carlotta and her male lead at the very center of, what Berdine thought of as, controlled chaos. She and Meg snuck down into the vast rows and took seats among the plush, new chairs that had been put in after the fire. Berdine ran her hands along the upholstered, deep red fabrics with gold trim. This was very nice, and no doubt very expensive. She wondered where the managers had gotten the money for this kind of redecorating.

"Have you seen the opera we're putting on?" Meg leaned over to whisper into her ear. Berdine turned to face her and shook her head.

"It's called _Der Barbier von Bagdad_. It's a comedy about Nureddin, the hero, who falls in love with Margiana, daughter of the Cadi. As you can probably see, Carlotta demanded she be the one who got the role of Margiana." Meg rolled her eyes at this, "I personally would have casted someone like Isabelle or Margot. They're much more suited to the role of a shy girl who must chose between her own happiness and that of her father's. Carlotta is too much like a bull, boisterous and crude. Not to mention the old bag is far too along in years to be playing a young… well- _anything_!"

Both girls grinned at each other, Meg even daring to let a small giggle out into the strong notes that said old bag was letting loose currently on stage. Despite her wicked temper, the Diva wasn't a bad singer. She was quite the opposite, actually, with a clean voice that bounced off the walls with willpower behind every bellow. But there inlied the problem. She was so used to playing the roles of a goddess or countess, that she had no clue how to play the delicate flower. She was too much for the music itself, and that was what made Berdine want to cover her ears in aversion.

The conductor must have agreed with her, because he waved his arms frantically to, once again, cut off the diva mid aria. "Carlotta! You are not playing the role of Nureddin! If you cannot grasp these simple notes at a much smaller register, then you and Louis can switch roles!"

A slew of sharp Italian whipped out of Carlotta, the woman throwing up her hands and stomping off to the back of the stage. Many of the younger dancers rushed to get out of her way, while the older ones tried to hide their laughter behind gloved hands. Berdine curled her lip at the childish display. She didn't have a chance to see the woman in action before now, only what she had heard from Meg and Adeline. And as they both had described, Carlotta was rude, arrogant, and incredibly immature.

The conductor stood firm though, and regained the attention of his cast with a simple clap of his hands. "Alright, if her _highness_ wishes to skip rehearsal, then she can drown opening night. But that means I want the rest of you to shine where she does not! Begin from after the duet."

"I like M Durand. He's not a pushover like our last conductor was." Meg smiled, "This one actually puts _La Diva_ in her place."

….

From above he watched his bird, all the while trying his best to ignore the atrocity being executed on stage. He supposed the managers were going for the more recently developed operas to be performed for their audiences. They were going for fresher ideas, ones that people had never seen before. He knew of _Der Barbier von Bagdad,_ knew how pathetic it was, and would have never let something like it into his opera house. It would fail spectacularly, especially if it was that monstrous woman who played the female lead. She was far more suited for one of the more _silent_ roles.

He could see from his vantagepoint that Berdine had made friends with little Meg, the blonde twit constantly whispering into his bird's ear. No doubt they were laughing at the pathetic, caterwauling fiend who still dared to perform on his stage.

He wondered if this was the first opera she'd heard. It probably was, considering she was from a tiny town in the middle of nowhere- or so he had heard her uncle say. His poor girl was probably completely ignorant of all things opera, and he felt a little annoyed with this. Surely he could teach her himself. He could perform every opera locked away in his memory for her, from beginning to end. He was most certain she would enjoy it, for he knew that he most certainly would.

But unlike last time around, he had to be patient. He couldn't go into this headfirst like he so desperately wanted. He needed to wait until she was eating out of the palm of his hands.

….

She felt it again.

The feeling of eyes on her. Like yesterday when she had sat in this enormous auditorium for the first time, that feeling of a predator breathing down her neck had returned. It felt like when someone put their arms around her, she suffered that tightening in her chest and a shaky panic flow through her body, making it tremble with a need to run.

She felt caged in.

Berdine's hands grasped Meg's bicep with a tremendous force, the dancer jumped in her seat, gasping with surprise and turned wide green eyes to her friend. "Birdy? What's wrong?"

Berdine tugged at her arm again, her eyes straying to the door at the end of the rows of seats. She wanted out, now.

Meg seemed to immediately understand what she wanted, standing up and pulling Berdine to stand as well. Meg led her out into the grand hall, not saying a word the entire time she walked. Berdine thought perhaps the young women was mad at her for her sudden violent outburst. Maybe this was the moment Meg told her she was too much of a killjoy, and left her to go find someone else to hang out with.

Berdine, despite not really enjoying being around people, needed Meg right now. She didn't want to be alone, with this new feeling of pressure sitting on her chest and her newfound homesickness. She wanted Meg's bright smile and never ending opinions.

"Birdy…"

Here it came, the moment she would be left to dwell alone.

"If there is ever something bothering you, please come find me. I can help you with whatever you may need." the dancer's voice was abnormally soft.

"I lost a friend here once, because I didn't know she was suffering. Please… if you ever need help, just come and get me?" she finally turned to look into her eyes.

Berdine could only nod.

….

She lay on the cot that night with a feeling of wonderment. Meg hadn't left her side for the rest of the day. And while Berdine did admit the girl was a bit much for her to handle at times, she was grateful for the company.

She was on edge constantly now. The feeling of eyes following her every move hadn't left since Meg led her out of the auditorium that afternoon. She thought at first perhaps it was only her imagination, but the longer the feeling remained the more her suspicions rose. The back of her neck felt as if it had went up in flames by late evening.

It was difficult to pay much attention to anything after that, though Meg had desperately tried. Berdine couldn't really grasp why the pretty blonde dancer wouldn't just leave her to go and find one of her friends, like Adeline or Clarice, someone who would actually talk _with_ her.

A heavy sigh escaped, she suspected it was pity, or maybe it had something to do with that strange way Meg's face had contorted into something beyond sorrow when they had exited the theatre.

 _I lost a friend here once, because I didn't know she was suffering._..

Who had the girl lost? Had whoever it was die? That's what it sounded like. Berdine had never experienced the death of a loved one. Her grandparents on her father's side had died before she was even born, and she had only seen her mother's father once or twice before when she was younger. From what she could recall, even with his withering age the man was a bear, having spent years as a blacksmith. Berdine, and even her brothers had always been weary of him. Her mother had been heartbroken to find out that he had recently passed away in his sleep, and thought briefly of traveling to his funeral, but for whatever reason, her mother had decided against it, and when Berdine had asked her mother only smiled sadly and said something about 'tension among her hometown and herself that was never resolved'.

Meg shared that same look as her mother though, and that's how Berdine came to the conclusion that whoever it was that Meg had mentioned was most likely dead. It had been that glance of regret, like they couldn't look her in the eyes because they were ashamed of something.

Berdine had a hard time understanding that. Her mother was perfect, and Meg was… Meg. What could they possibly have to regret? It wasn't their fault people died, after all. People died all the time, for all kinds of reasons, and unless you had been the one to take their life with your own hands their death wasn't your fault.

So why did they hold on to that gult?

That was her last thought before sleep took her.

...

He watched her sleep, his hands stroking her long hair. It reminded him of his black stallion out in the opera's stables, dark and course, almost rough on his fingertips. In the moonlight it shined like hot tar, saturating the sheets around her head which lead down into an angelic, young face. Her skin was pale, made almost transparent with the contrast of her dark locks. Her mouth was a dusty peach, warm, smooth, and oh so soft. He loved her lips, and wanted to touch them with his, but he stopped himself.

He always stopped himself.

His gaze traveled lower, and he leaned forward just a bit on the chair he placed beside her bed, like his body was drawn to hers. Her figure wasn't that of a dancer, it was womanly. Small shoulders, trim waist, large hips, aspects that Christine lacked. She had a girl's body, which would someday grow into an elegantly long shape. It would be sharper, thinner, and not too unlike the painting of the greek goddesses hanging out in the foyer.

They walked differently, he noted. Christine had been light with every step, as if she was made of air. His bird had a very heavy step, probably due to the extra weight, or perhaps just years of lacking grace of any kind. He doubted a farm girl needed to shape herself with womanly charms and seductions. Maybe his bird wasn't yet interested in men.

He would change that. He knew he could. It was easy enough with his Christine, the way he made her want. A young girl surrounded by sex in an opera house- it was no wonder she had almost succumbed to her darker desires that no mere boy could satisfy. Eric knew how to operate the body, make it sing for him. The years spent with voluptuous concubines and spoiled young princes had taught him all he ever needed to know about sin.

He wanted nothing more than to drown this young woman in sinful pleasure. Make her scream for him, wanted her to love and crave nothing but _him._ No handsome rich brats or vicomtes would make her turn her gaze from him. He would make absolute sure of it.

"Sleep my girl, sleep and dream of me."

He smiled.

….


End file.
